Inhibition
by gundam06serenity
Summary: AU. Yaoi. Slight Cross-Over. What if, with the rising fear of Mutants in America, Vernon thought Harry could be controlled, could be fixed, using the same tecnology? Angst. Abuse. Non-con.
1. Chapter 1

Inhibition

Chapter One: The Freak

'He did it again, Vernon.'

Emerald eyes peered out from behind their hiding place. He could hear her every movement as she stormed around the kitchen; the bang on a saucepan being moved from one hob to another, the clattering of china – the cheap, every day set- being taken out from the top cupboard, away from any potential prying eyes, ready to set the table for dinner.

'My ickle Duddy-kins saw him this time. He was sat right next to him!'

Small, pudgy fingers rested against the rough, uneven door. He wriggled, pushing against it. A lone tooth worried at his plump lower lip. He let out a faint whimper. They were talking about him again.

'Something has got to be done. It's only a matter of time before he does something freakish to our precious little Dudders!'

_Auntie 'Tuna sounds angwee again…_

His little nose twitched as the scent of freshly roasted beef wafted through the door to his sanctuary. His tummy growled in protest.

'Hungwee' He pouted, tracing the cool metal keyhole. He had only managed one lick of Dudley's ice-cream cone before Petunia had noticed. It was the first time his cousin had offered to share anything with the smaller boy. They had been in the park, as old Mrs. Figg next door couldn't look after him for the day, and Petunia refused point blank to buy an extra ticket for him to go and see the new Disney film Dudley had been whining and screaming to see all week.

…_No car dis time…_

Petunia hadn't tried leaving him in the car again, either. The last time she did, it had been hot and stuffy. It had made him dizzy. He vaguely remembered soft hands wiping watery vomit from his lips and chin, a kind voice shouting out that he was still breathing.

Petunia had gone white when she had come back, pushing her little Duddikins in his buggy, only to discover the back window of Vernons' new Vauxhall decorating the pavement, a growing crowed surrounding the damaged car. Thin lips had drawn into an impossibly tight line, as the crowed, whispering and pointing, focused their attention on the two firemen lifting the tiny, limp form from the back seat.

Small fingers found their way to his backside, wincing as he touched the still tender flesh through his shorts. He liked these ones. They had a cute, wonky-faced horse on the pocket. Vernon had bought them for him – the first real present he had ever been given – after his punishment for breaking the car window.

_Bad-bad-bad!_

He whimpered, lost in the memory of that night. Resting on the door, he clawed weakly at it, the pain of his soft baby-nails tearing not registering as his other hand drifted down, digging into the still healing flesh of his rear.

He had thought, for a brief moment, that his Auntie 'Tuna would turn around and leave him there, all by himself. He had squirmed, desperate to reach her. She had told him what happened to Freaks like him. They got put into care, in horrible, smelly old orphanages, where no-one would care if one miserable little Freak went missing. He didn't want to leave his blanky behind, or those crayons Dudley had broken by throwing them into the new lawnmower that Uncle Vernon had bought home. He didn't want to give up the spider – Blackie, he had named her-who lived above his pillow and spun webs in such pretty patterns, or his cupboard, for rats and a cramped, cold room with lots of other nasty little Freaks who wouldn't be half as kind to him as Auntie 'Tuna's family was.

He remembered the feeling of terror that had flooded him, as the soft, strong arms tightened around his wriggling frame. It had felt as though the bottom of his tummy had fallen out. He couldn't help himself. He had let out a stifled sob, his hand firmly wedged in his mouth, as the front of his worn blue dungarees became warm, a large, wet patch spreading across the pale blue denim. Soft arms moved him away from their warm, welcoming body as the damp spread, trickling down his legs, dripping off of his bare toes.

That was when she turned back for him. Unruly, she had said. They thought that there was something wrong with him. A car crash, you see. They – she and her husband, of course – thought that he was starting to develop a phobia of them, despite his young age. She couldn't understand how he had managed to pull down the child locks all by himself while she was getting her own little angel strapped in to his buggy. When she had seen, she had understandably panicked. Rushed to call her husband, she said, though he must have been in a meeting as no-one answered.

They had nodded, the crowed quickly dispelling as the toddler was passed back to his aunt. He clung to her leg, sniffling, as relief coursed through his tiny body. It wasn't until they got home that he realized just how angry she was.

They had to get a taxi home. Petunia had decided it wasn't safe for her Ickle Duddykins to be anywhere near so much broken glass, and public transport was just out of the question.

Dudley had been sat in front of the television in the living room, a mountain of toys still scattered across the carpet from where he had been playing earlier that day.

He had been led into the kitchen, Auntie 'Tuna's bony hand twisting painfully at his wrist. Her shrill voice went over his head, her shriek's not registering fully as he focused on the itchy, drying urine that covered his dungarees. It smelled bad, like old Mrs. Figg's cats. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled on his dungarees again, trying to pry them off of his damp, itchy skin.

'Listen to me when I'm speaking, you little Freak!' She slapped him. Hard. Emerald eyes watered, his cheek stinging as she lowered her hand from his face. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes, his hands still resting on the seat of his denim dungarees, where he had been trying to pull the uncomfortable material away. Cold, watery blue eyes turned icy when she saw where his hands lay.

She turned without a word, looking as though she was about to start preparing dinner. Making her way to the oven, she turned the largest of the four hobs on full. He could see the steam rising from it as first a minute, then two, then three ticked by.

He could still remember the warm, fuzzy feeling that had overcome him as Auntie 'Tuna had undone his dungarees for him, helping him to undress the same way she did for Dudley. He had smiled as she pulled the red and white striped t-shirt off of his upper body, the baggy material easily being lifted from his tiny frame. He giggled as it ruffled his hair. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Vernons' hand, ruffling his hair just like he did with Dudley, a wide, proud grin on his face. He wriggled happily as Petunia picked him up by his armpits, ignoring the uncomfortable chill on his bare, damp backside.

_Auntie 'Tuna must love me_, he had thought, _just like she loves Dudley_.

He didn't have time to react as the first prickles of heat tickled his pale, smooth flesh. It began far too quickly for his young mind to piece everything together, let alone to worry about what was to come.

Petunia Dursely carefully lined him up, placing her tiny two and a half year old nephew on the burning hot hob. Firm, steady hands held the thrashing toddler in place, as the pain took over from the brief split-second of confusion and fear that ruled the small child's face. Green eyes looked up at her, staring deep into her unwavering faze, as the skin on his bottom sizzled. The burning scent of his flesh smelt like bacon. It filled the air with its' dreadful stench, the only constant as his screams of pain turned into desperate sobs, trailing off to faint whimpers until, finally, all that remained was the spitting searing sizzling of baby skin on red hot metal.

It felt like an eternity. He thought it would never end.

_Do bad. So-so-so-so bad._

It wasn't until Vernon came home, red-faced and ready to shout, to scream, to withhold dinner for the entire weekend, that he finally got some relief. It had taken a moment for the scene playing out before him to register in Vernon Dursley's mind. His Petinia – his lovely, sweet little flower-couldn't possibly be doing anything so, so…

'No, Pet!'

Large, beefy hands had lifted him from the store. A purple, sweaty face hadn't spared him a second glance, his attention focused on the pale, horse-faced woman.

They had shouted. A lot. He couldn't remember much of what had been said. Freak, he did remember. It had just hurt so much…He could barely remember the days that followed, save Uncle Vernon's gifts-the shorts, and a small tin of jelly-babies, just like the ones Aunt Marge always bought for Dudley.

'And what do you expect me to do, Petunia? Do you want me to lose it like you did?'

The thump of a fist hitting wood made him jump. He scuttled back, onto his small cot.

'If it will fix him-'

'You mean get rid of him.'

'Does it matter either way?'

The house fell silent. Neither could believe what Petunia had said, both knowing it could never be taken back.

Curling into a ball, his arms cradled his stomach, the tell-tale gurgling of hunger sounding throughout his cupboard.

'I have been reading about this new…control act in the papers. Started in America – an attempt to control those new mutant-freaks they had over there. What if the boy is like them? They're the same, aren't they?'

'What good does that do us, Vernon? We're here, and those collar-things have been banned. Bloody government busy bodies, trying-'

'Sssh, Pet. I know, I know. I'll find a way; If you promise me that there will be no more stunts like that again.

'But Vernon-'

'Pet. What would _They_ do if, if they were to find out?'

'You…you're right, Vernon. I-I…promise.'

'And I promise you, Pet-we will find a way to cure the Freak of his…abnormalities. Together.

End of Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Cure

'Yes. I would like to place an order-what are you doing in here?' Vernon hissed, covering the shiny black receiver with a sweaty hand.

Wide green eyes peered out from beneath a mop of wild, yet black hair.

'Well?' Vernon could feel his patience slipping. The boy should have known by now not to come into his study; even his precious Dudders knew not to interrupt him while he was working. If he wanted to get that promotion at Grunnings, if he wanted to make it to the top, he would have to have complete peace and quiet. Looking down, Vernon saw his nephews grimy, trembling hands clutching a blue and white jay cloth and polish.

'Just a moment-' He said down the phone, his attention wavering. What was that dark blotch spreading over the cloth the boy was holding? He didn't want any muck near his paperwork; who knew what the boy might get it on?

'Wait outside boy. I'll deal with you later.' He said, gesturing to the white washed door to his study. 'I'm terribly sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes; as I was saying. I would like to place an order to be sent to a PO box, if that would be possible?'

He stood in the hallway, his entire body trembling. He could just make out the faint sound of his uncle on the phone through the ajar door. Bare feet shuffled on smooth wooden floor boards, toes gently rubbing together. Careful not to lean on the cream wall, he swayed, trying to catch his balance. Auntie 'Tuna didn't like smudges, or dirt, or him. His fingers clenched, twisting the cloth and the spray bottle in his small hands.

_Need to clean Uncle's office. Auntie Tuna will be mad if I don't. _

Keeping his head down, he rubbed his hand against the seat of his shorts. He winced. A dark red smear marked the oversized mushroom-colour shorts. Flexing his palms he whimpered. It wasn't from the stinging, though, rather from the thought of how angry his Aunt would be. Extra stains meant extra washing which meant extra money; money which could be used on Dudley, not on the Freakish son of a drunk and a whore who they took in out of the goodness of their hearts.

'-Yes, that's right. I'd like two if possible The…well, let me just say…_IT's_ still not fully…grown. I wouldn't want one breaking, only to have to wait months for a replacement.'

Rubbing the stain harder with his palm, he bit his lip hard, trying to stifle a hiss of pain as the rough material scraped his hands. Turning his pals up, he prodded the broken skin with a dry, sore finger. Each palm bore a pair of identical deep gashes, the skin around the marks dark, purpling; the wounds still weeping blood and puss.

_Must'n't touch the scraps._

Auntie 'Tuna had found his pulling the few burnt scraps of fat from the mornings breakfast out of the bin. He had seen Dudley throw them on the floor before Auntie 'Tuna had put them in the bin. She had taken Dudley in to the living room, her shrill voice carrying back the order for him to clean the table, and not to touch the joint of beef that was defrosting on the side. He was just _so_ hungry…

She had walked in on him, though. As he pulled the first burnt scrap of bacon rind from its' hiding place beside a soggy, torn tea bag, she had grabbed him. Taking his hand in hers, she had pulled him outside, leading him behind the new garden shed that Vernon had just bought.

The cold morning dew that covered the lawn like a shimmering carpet quickly covered his bare feet, chilling him to the bone. She had told him to hold his hands out, palms up. Told him to keep them steady. He hadn't wanted to. His Auntie 'Tuna seemed scarily calm, just like when he had caused her so much trouble over the new car months earlier.

She pulled the trelling out from one of the new potted plants Vernon had bought for her. There were eight of them, each in an identical, shiny blue terracotta pot. He had re-potted them only a day earlier, earning himself more than one swat to the head before Vernon had had to show him how to tie each fragile plant to the long, slender bamboo canes that would support them and show them where to grow.

He watched as careless hands ripped the cane from the fragile stalk, raising it high above her head. She brought it down on his tiny, dirty hands twice, before she had to stifle his cries with her other hand. Cold, unsympathetic eyes watched the blood well, trickling steadily out from the two deep, raw rivets that neatly lined both of his hands.

Tears streaming down his face, he watched as his aunt dropped the cane, leaving him without a second thought.

'Clean that up when you're done blubbering.' She had sneered.

_Mustn't blub. Blubbing bad. No more bad._

Screwing his eyes tightly shut, he shook his head, fingers curling into claws as he tried to banish the memories.

_Wait for Uncle, _then_ clean. Be a good boy. Good boy._

'Really, that long? Oh, of course-I understand, I know…do you accept payment by check, or-'

'Ah!' He whimpered, eyes flying open. He could feel the slow, steady trickle of thick, vile-smelling goo dripping from the now-burst wounds on his palms, on to the nice, clean cream carpets.

_Nooo._

Dropping to his knees, he quickly sprayed the carpet with the polish, jay cloth ready. He had to get it clean before anyone saw it.

'No more dirt. No bad stains. One eye sore's more'n enough.' He mumbled, repeating his Aunt's words.

'Oh, Boy…'

He flinched; he hadn't heard his Uncle finish his phone call, nor the man leaving his office.

_Another failure_, a little voice taunted him in his head, _another reason for them to hate you._

Large, meaty hands covered his own. Firmly, carefully, they pried the cleaning supplies from his own. Keeping his head lowered, he didn't dare look up as Vernon turned his hands palm up. The sharp sting of cleaning fluid seeping into his open wounds finally, began to register.

'Follow me.'

Silently, he trailed behind Uncle Vernon as he made his way to the bathroom.

_Bad, bad. Auntie 'Tuna will be mad at me for going in here._

His Aunt had made it very clear that she expected him to do his business in a bucket in his cupboard. She would clean it twice a week. He was to wash outside, using the garden hose in the early morning before the neighbors woke up. His Auntie thought him sleeping in the filth and grime he got covered with during the day would do him some good.

'What were you thinking?'

He bit his lip, trying to focus on Uncle Vernon's words. The larger man shoved his injured hands into the sparkling clean porcelain basin.

'What did you do this time?'

The hot water hurt. He could feel his hands tingling, going numb as the battered flesh turned a rosy pink, slowly darkening to red.

'It's not Petunia's fault. You just make her so mad, with your freakish behavior…'

He swayed. He felt so light-headed. He could feel the fussy, blackness of sweet oblivion pushing at the edge of his vision. Just a few minutes of rest, then he would complete his chores…

'If I could find a way to take away your freakishness, Petunia might learn to tolerate you. Would you like that, Boy? She might even learn to like you…'

Wide green eyes focused, his breath catching in his throat. Auntie 'Tuna, like him? _Him?_ He would give anything-

'What would you give me in return?'

He wavered, confused, his Uncle's breath hot and damp on the back of his neck. A hand moved away, slowly, down from where it held his wrists beneath the steady flow of hot water, stroking his it's way down his side, ghosting across the t-shirt, coming to rest on his hip.

'Nothing in this life is free, Boy. Including protection from your Aunt.'

He could feel the massive body shifting behind him, the cloying scent of stale sweat and cheap cologne filling his senses as the uncomfortable warmth pressed against his tiny body. His Uncle's other hand released his wrists, allowing them to move out of the steady path of boiling water. It found it's way to his thigh, gliding up, his touch ghosting across the covered flesh.

'What would you give me, for a chance to be normal?'

'Anything, Uncle Vernon?' The high-pitched, innocent voice whispered above the sound of water and heavy breathing.

The sweaty hand clamped around his thigh, forcing his legs apart. Vernon's other hand smoothly moved from the boy's hip to the gentle curve of his nephew's buttock. Gentle, clammy hands turned tough and eager, trying to find their way beneath the fabric.

His breath sped up at the first skin-on-skin contact. Neither noticed as the bathroom mirror began to shake and rattle in time with the boy's panicked breaths.

'Good Boy.'

He whimpered, a fist making its' way past his zipper.

'No…' He managed to force past his lips.

The fist grabbed cruelly at his flesh, twisting. 'You promised, you little freak. You-aah!'

Vernon's voice faltered. Watery green eyes could see the shards of glass raining down on the beefy man, the mirror shattered. The hands retreated, leaving him alone.

'You're not a good boy. Not yet.'

Hands twisting in his oversized t-shirt, the boy was forced to stumble alongside his Uncle as he dragged him down to his cupboard.

'Do you want to be a freak for the rest of your life? Unloved? Alone.' Vernon spat, shoving him face-first into the tiny space. Trembling, he shook his head. 'You best be ready to pay the price then, Boy. I protect you. I feed you. I make sure Pet doesn't go too far. Let's see how you like things without my protection. Let's see if you do freakish things around me then, when I offer you salvation.'

As his Uncle turned to leave, a small hand shot out, grabbing desperately for the older man's ankles.

'I didn't mean to, Uncle Vernon. Please. Please don't leave me. I'll do anything. I want to be a go-good boy.' He begged.

Vernon surveyed the boy, displeasure slowing transforming into a small, pleased smile. 'Five weeks. I can help you in five weeks – not a day sooner.'

He sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself. He had done it now. He wouldn't make it five weeks by himself, left to Auntie 'Tuna's tender mercies.

'Unless…' Vernon tapped his lip. '…You can prove to me you want to be a good boy before the weekend. If you can do that, I'll have a special reward for you.' The door slammed shut behind him. 'Four days till Sunday. You best start planning.'

Sobbing himself to sleep that night, Boy vowed to prove to Uncle Vernon that he wanted to be a good boy, that he wanted to make the older man happy. He would do it. No matter what the cost.

End of Chapter Two


End file.
